


White Flag

by AnnaKnitsSpock



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alien genitalia, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awkward Boners, Body Image, Bones is a good doctor, Bottom Spock, Communication Failure, Depression, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Lack of Communication, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Illness, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Panic Attacks, Post-Star Trek Beyond, Self-Lubrication, Smut, Spock and Uhura are bff, Spock's kinda topping from the bottom though let's be real, Top Kirk, Unrequited Love, Vulcan Biology, it's not really unrequited don't worry, red workout tights, yeah I was as surprised as anybody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 00:03:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11263803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaKnitsSpock/pseuds/AnnaKnitsSpock
Summary: Although Jim and Spock have developed a deep friendship over the first three years of their mission, neither of them is satisfied, each longing for a more intimate connection. As far as Jim knows, Spock and Uhura are still happily together, and there's no chance for him to be with Spock. But in reality, Spock and Uhura ended their relationship years ago, and ever since, Spock has been desperately trying to make Jim see that he's in love with him.After the loss of the Enterprise and the events on Altamid and Yorktown, Jim is struggling with major mental illness and Spock has finally given up any hope of his captain returning his affections. Can they correct their misunderstanding before it's too late?





	White Flag

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to the [2017 T'hy'la Bang](http://thylabang.tumblr.com/). The WONDERFUL, BEAUTIFUL accompanying art is by [Echo](https://echodoki-blog.tumblr.com/), please check it out [here](https://echodoki-blog.tumblr.com/post/162149196486/art-white-flag-by-annaknitsspock).
> 
> I owe an endless debt of gratitude to my beta [AshayaTReldai](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AshayaTReldai/pseuds/AshayaTReldai), without whom this story would have crashed and burned.

Jim and his crew had been on Yorktown for two months. The constitution-class vessel being built there was nearly complete and, after the incident with Krall, it hadn’t taken Starfleet long to christen the new ship the _USS Enterprise_ NCC-1701-A. Captain Kirk’s crew had saved thousands of lives yet again, and that kind of record afforded certain privileges—including a brand-new ship.

And so they had all been granted leave while the finishing touches were made to Jim’s new ship, as if giving it the same name automatically made it _his_ , as if he wasn’t mourning the loss of his _Enterprise_ like he would mourn a best friend.

But Jim was happy that his crew got a break. He was _happy_ to constantly run into Sulu carrying Demora around, or snuggling with Ben in a restaurant, or lounging with both of them in one of the artificially replicated parks. He was _happy_ to find Scotty and Jaylah flirting over drinks or bickering in spare parts shops. _Happy_ that Bones had been able to convince Jocelyn to ship Johanna out for an extended visit, and that as soon as she had arrived Bones had turned into a completely different man, grinning and showing Jo off to anyone he ran into. Jim was _happy_ that Chekov was getting more sex than a kid that young had any right to (although Jim had gotten more at that age).

Jim didn’t feel happy too often anymore, but he was undeniably _happy_ that his officers were getting the rest and recreation they deserved, the chance to spread out and sprawl. He was even happy that Spock and Uhura had dozens of new quiet corners where they could sit close together and whisper romantically.

He would have preferred not to stumble upon them doing it quite so often, but still.  


**Eight Months Earlier**

_Are you currently available to join me in my quarters for chess?_

Jim stared at the message blinking on his personal comm. It was the fourth time Spock had invited him for chess in the past week. He kept persisting even though Jim kept turning him down.

Jim didn’t want to be awake anymore. He had to get reports done, but that at least he could do from bed. He was tired, an unnatural, bone-deep exhaustion that no amount of sleep could dispel. Gone was the frenetic energy he had always struggled to control, the agitation under his skin that demanded an outlet, that had driven him to fight, to fuck, to join Starfleet on a dare, to study without sleeping for days until he was top of his class, to hack the Kobayashi Maru, to become the youngest captain in Federation history.

What had any of that gotten him, anyway? He was alone, in command of a ship he didn’t feel worthy of, with a crew he barely deserved and a first officer who was supposed to be some kind of soulmate, but definitively _wasn’t_.

Chatting with his friends, drinking with Bones, chess with Spock—it all just felt like work now. Even actual work left him feeling empty. They’d been star-charting for months, interrupted here and there by missions that never seemed to have a satisfactory resolution, that always left someone hurt (or worse), that left Jim feeling more like a clumsy interloper than any kind of hero.

He wanted to sleep. He did not want to sit across from Spock and mentally trace the lines of his profile, watch his fingers as they turned a chess piece over and over, imagining what those fingers would feel like inside him. He did not want to say goodnight at the end of their game and go back to his quarters feeling more alone than ever.

But he had declined Spock’s social invitations so many times now that Spock was going to start noticing something was wrong, and Jim was possibly going to hurt his feelings. Jim felt too heavy to even get up and cross through the bathroom into Spock’s quarters, but the thought of hurting Spock was scary and sharp enough to penetrate his dark lethargy.

So he texted back: _Sure. Be there in 5_ , and dragged himself out of bed. He looked down at the dirty t-shirt he’d been wearing to bed for the last… month? He couldn’t remember when he’d last washed it. His briefs, at least, were only a day old. He was pretty sure, anyway.

He stripped and dumped his clothes in the refresher, managing to find a pair of sweatpants and a clean, if wrinkled, Academy T in the back of his closet.

Looking at his naked body in the mirror, he was suddenly self-conscious of being in close proximity to Spock—he hadn’t taken a shower for a couple of days, and his hair was limp and dull, face prickly with stubble. He hadn’t been exercising and had put on some weight, especially around his belly.

He turned away from the mirror with revulsion. He didn’t want to look at himself anymore.

_Actually give me 10 min. I need a shower._

He felt slightly better after a water shower and a shave, and his pajamas hid most of his flab. In the periods of depression he’d had in the past, he usually stopped eating and got too skinny—probably a fun memento from his time on Tarsus IV—and he had no idea what was wrong with him now, eating too much and avoiding the gym. Disgusting.

He sighed and shook his head. He needed to at least _try_ to seem normal for Spock.

He knocked lightly on Spock’s bathroom door. They had long since given up leaving their quarters and chiming for entry at the other’s door from the corridor. It was way more efficient to simply go through the bathroom. Jim consistently tried to ignore the domestic intimacy of it.

“Come in, Jim,” he heard Spock say, and the door slid open.

Spock was already sitting at his desk, the chess pieces in place and waiting. He looked up from a PADD as Jim came in and smiled ever so softly.

Jim considered turning around and going back to bed without explanation, but forced himself to smile back instead as he came over and sat down.

“Hey. Thanks for the invite. Sorry I keep turning you down.”

“Apologies are unnecessary. I understand that you are quite busy. If you are finding yourself overwhelmed with work, do please allow me to assist you with reports or other tasks.”

 _Take him up on that!_ shouted the selfish voice in Jim’s head. _Let him do more of your work—that’s literally his job and he needs less sleep than you anyway! Let him help, maybe you could actually work on feeling better._

“I’m fine, Spock, thanks. Let’s play.”

\---

Their latest unsatisfactory mission was a boring botanical survey that had taken them to a cool, wet planet. It was covered with beautiful greenery, but the damp air was thick in Jim’s lungs, the plants were making him allergic, and in the gray drizzle, Spock looked like a cat who had gotten caught in a rainstorm.

“Adalysis, Mr. Spock?” Jim asked, voice muddled with congestion.

Spock swiped the screen of his tricorder with his thumb, trying to see the readouts through the condensation.

“I assume,” he snapped, “that you are asking me for _analysis_ , Captain?”

“Nyeah,” Jim snapped back, “I can’b helb it that I’b stuffy.”

He was overtaken by a sneezing fit and Spock huffed in frustration.

“I cannot properly see or assess these results through this precipitation. We must locate a dry area.”

They managed to find a large stone overhang and huddled up under it. Spock made a fire and Jim blew his nose a few times, and then miraculously found an antihistamine hypo in the bottom of his survey pack. Oh right—he remembered now that Bones had put it there, saying Jim would probably have allergies on this planet. Well, Spock didn’t need to know that. Jim hastily administered it to himself while Spock was stoking the flames.

They sat in uncomfortable silence around the fire for a while, Spock going over his now-legible readouts. Once Jim had stopped sniffling, Spock said quietly, “I apologize for my behavior and lapse in emotional control, Captain.”

“That’s ok,” Jim smiled. “I know you hate getting wet. Did you get good enough readings for us to send down a research party?”

“I believe so. I will provide you with a definitive conclusion once we are onboard and I have assessed my findings in the lab.”

“Sounds good.” Another long silence stretched out, but this time it was companionable. Spock put down his tricorder and they both stared into the leaping glow of the fire.

“Wanna head back?” Jim asked eventually.

Spock glanced at him, slightly sheepish. “Perhaps we could stay a bit longer, Captain? At least until my uniform pants are dry?”

Jim laughed, heart constricting with the pleasure-pain of how much he loved this Vulcan. “Of course, Commander.” After a pause he asked, “How’d you handle rain when you visited Earth as a kid?”

They didn’t talk about Spock’s childhood often; Jim still felt awkward talking about Spock’s mom, didn’t know how much Spock wanted to discuss her, what impact it had on him to do so. But now Spock almost smiled, eyes far away.

“I refused to leave our lodgings in the Vulcan compound. It was a source of vexation to my parents, particularly my mother, who preferred to spend as much time in the human part of the city as possible. However, I believe my father secretly shared my aversion, as he advocated on my behalf when I encouraged my mother to leave me alone in the apartment. I _was_ seven, after all.”

“Oh, of course,” Jim grinned, “Seven whole years, you were basically ready to go to the Academy.”

“I will remind you,” Spock said haughtily, but his eyes were amused, “that Vulcan children mature faster than human children.”

“Uh huh. So did you get to stay home alone or not?”

“I did. Occasionally, when the precipitation was particularly heavy, my father stayed home with me. He claimed that his meetings were cancelled on those days but, given their consistent correspondence with rain, I suspect he was the one responsible for the cancellations. Those were rare moments of concord between us—we would play chess or attempt to repair and reprogram broken computers.”

“That’s really nice.”

“Indeed. There were other days when I was alone, and although there was a loneliness in solitude, it was also peaceful. On Vulcan, I was lonely because the other children would not associate with me, except to taunt me for my parentage. But on Earth, when it rained, I was simply alone.”

Jim didn’t know what to say. He was actually kind of scared that if he opened his mouth he would cry. For a moment he just watched Spock watch the fire, letting his imagination spool outward to what their future could be if Spock wanted him.

“I wish we had known each other then,” he said, surprising himself.

Spock looked up, held his gaze. “I am certain we would have made an exceptional pair.”

Jim shrugged and looked away, suddenly self-conscious. “I dunno, I probably would have irritated you then just as much as I do now.”

“You do not irritate me.”

Jim had to laugh at that, but when he finally looked back, Spock’s face was sincere. “Are you kidding?” Jim said incredulously.

“Well,” Spock tilted his head, “I suppose that is not accurate—we are each a common point of vexation for the other. But that is not because I find you irritating in general. You are very different than I am, and you challenge me. Sometimes that is frustrating, but it is also what has made me a better officer and a better individual.”

Jim swallowed, unable to look away from Spock’s earnest, serious expression. There was an ecstatic lightness to the air, a charge of anticipation. He had no adequate response, and a wrinkle of concern appeared on Spock’s forehead.

“Is it not so for you? Do you simply experience our differences as an irritation?”

Jim lept up, so clumsy and anxious in his desperation to correct Spock’s misunderstanding that he nearly tipped over into the fire. Spock stood quickly and caught him by the arms.

“No!” Jim exclaimed before Spock had even finished balancing him, hands still firmly around Jim’s forearms, “That’s exactly what I feel, honestly! I never could have done this—none of it!—without you challenging me and questioning me and holding me to a higher standard. I’d be nothing without you, Spock, nothing at all. I just… didn’t know you felt anything even close to that about me.”

Spock’s face softened. He didn’t let go of Jim’s arms and they stood holding onto each other in the glow of the flames. “Of course I do, Jim.”

 _This is where we would kiss_ , Jim thought. _If he wasn’t in love with someone else_.

He gently extracted himself from Spock’s grip, even though what he really wanted was to lean more deeply into it.

“I’m glad,” he whispered, and Spock gave him one of those small, secret smiles. Jim cleared his throat, feeling exposed and vulnerable. “Well, we should probably head back.”

Spock nodded, snapping back into first-officer mode. “Of course, Captain.”

Before they slipped from under the outcropping, Jim took off his coat. He was hot from the fire and from his own embarrassment, anyway.

“Here, Spock,” he said, and put the coat over Spock’s shoulders. “I’m hot. You take this until we get out of the rain.”

Spock stilled and stared at him a moment before putting his arms through the sleeves. “Are you certain?”

“Totally,” Jim said, and couldn’t help himself from putting the hood over Spock's head and zipping the coat up, patting him once on the shoulders. “Gotta keep my favorite Vulcan warm; I don’t want your dad calling and telling me to let you stay home from rainy away missions.”

Spock smiled wider, almost a true human grin, and together they went back into the rain.

\---

After that conversation, Jim felt somewhat lighter. Alpha shift the next day was comfortable and easy, and Spock kept shooting Jim little amused glances over his shoulder. It felt like something was about to happen, some wall between them about to break.

 _Maybe_ , his mind whispered. _Maybe_.

He could never wish Uhura ill, but things happened. He tried—he _tried_ —not to hope for it, but it was silly to pretend that Spock didn’t show an interest in Jim unlike anything he showed for others, even Uhura. There was a chance, small but real, that Spock had fallen in love with him regardless of his current relationship status.

It would break Uhura’s heart, so he couldn’t hope for it.

It would help put his own back together, so he couldn’t _not_ hope.

Jim stayed late in the mess that night, lost in reports. An engineering accident had left two ensigns wounded, a temperature-control panel destroyed, and, worst of all, Scotty stuck in medbay with chemical burns.

Thankfully, everyone was going to be fine, but there was plenty of paperwork to be filed in the aftermath and Jim had lost almost two hours listening to Scotty rant about what had happened and why he should be released from sickbay to make repairs. In order to escape, Jim had finally agreed with Bones that if Scotty didn’t shut up and let the burn-specific dermal regenerator do its job, Bones would have to knock him out with a Klingon tranquilizer.

“Hey, Captain.”

Jim looked up, startled, at Uhura’s familiar voice. She was standing above him, holding two mugs. She laughed at his twitchy reaction.

“Sorry, didn’t realize you were so deep in those reports. I just wanted to see if you’d mind company while you work. I’m behind on some translations and I’m having trouble focusing in my quarters.”

“Of course not,” Jim said, gesturing at the seat across from him. Uhura smiled. “Thanks. Here, I knew you’d say yes, so I got you a coffee.”

Jim took one mug from her and grinned. “Thanks.”

They worked, mostly silent, for a couple of hours, breaking occasionally to sip their coffee and talk about how ridiculous Scotty was being, make a bet on whose fault the engineering accident actually was, guess at how many other similar bets were being made around the ship at that very moment.

It was so pleasant that Jim entirely forgot to feel guilty until Spock wandered into the mess hall.

Uhura crumpled when she caught sight of him, slapping herself lightly on the head. As he drew up to their table with a vaguely amused expression she said, “Fuck, Spock, I totally forgot! I’m so sorry!”

“Apologies are unnecessary. I assumed you were still struggling to complete your translations and thus failed to remember our plans.”

Jim watched them smile at each other, easy and sweet. Uhura shot him an apologetic look as she gathered her PADDs and got up.

“Sorry, Jim, I have to bail on being study buddies. I totally forgot Spock and I were supposed to have dinner.”

“No worries,” Jim said faintly. He couldn’t help but glance at Spock—the warm look he had been giving Uhura had now been turned on him, blindingly bright for a Vulcan expression.

 _Maybe_ , his mind whispered, _Maybe_ —

No! He was here to pick up his girlfriend for dinner. They’d go back to his quarters and later, in the dim red light reflecting off Spock’s Vulcan decorations, he would slip into her, take her apart, consume her as though she were a part of him coming home.

“Do you require assistance with your reports, Captain?”

Jim shook himself.

“Oh, uh—no, of course not. You… you go on. Enjoy your dinner.”

Spock politely inclined his head and Uhura took his arm. Whispering something to each other that made Spock shake his head in fond exasperation, they left the mess hall without looking back, leaving Jim alone, staring after them.

\---

“I’m really sorry I forgot,” Nyota said again as they strolled to Spock’s quarters, tightening her arm in his.

“It truly is of no consequence. Please let me know if you are overworked and I will see that your schedule is adjusted.”

“No, it’s fine now, I got a lot done. Jim’s a really good work companion.”

“He is,” Spock said softly, reverently, and Nyota snorted.

“But seriously—you know how much I want to hear what’s been going on.”

“Yes.”

“You think he really might finally be responding?”

Spock glanced at her, the bright, hopeful gleam of his eyes a welcome sight.

“I do.” He lowered his voice. “There was an undeniable intimacy between us on the botanical survey. It… is difficult to explain. I will endeavor to do so once we are in private.”

Nyota sighed and squeezed his arm once more. “I’m so _glad_ that idiot is seeing the light, Spock.”

She popped up on her toes to kiss his cheek and Spock smiled secretively at her. “As am I.”

Knowing he wouldn’t want to say much more in the corridor, she let the matter drop for the moment.

“Did you make me Plomeek soup?”

“Of course I did.”

\---

Alone in the mess, Jim ordered himself a huge bowl of pasta and ate until he felt sick. He managed to make it back to his quarters before he threw up.

When he had nothing left but bile, he flushed the toilet, washed out his mouth, ordered the lights off, and then sat in the dark bathroom.

His mind stubbornly kept up the chant: _Maybe, maybe, maybe_.

“Shut UP!” Jim yelled finally, slamming his fists on the tile floor. There was no maybe, nothing to hope for—and who the hell hoped for his friends to break up anyway?

Jim just needed to _get over_ this. Was this the whole reason he was feeling so low, so burnt out? How pathetic: depression triggered by unrequited love. How _mature_.

He had never loved anyone else the way he loved Spock, so he was no expert. But surely this deep, narrow hole in his heart was an overreaction. He just needed to try harder, to push through it.

Jim let his head fall back against the bulkhead. His limbs had gone heavy and immovable again, his legs like lead.

He would start trying tomorrow. Tonight was a lost cause.

\---

They finally, _finally_ , got assigned an exciting mission, but even as they sat in the conference room listening to Uhura’s cultural briefing, Jim couldn’t summon up the buzz of anticipation, the coil of adrenaline ready to be weaponized.

They were descending into the middle of a war on a big tropical planet, Hephae II, with orders to extract an Andorian ambassador, Shess, who had been captured three months ago. The culture was complicated and easily offended, so under no circumstances were Jim and his crew to get involved with the conflict—Starfleet needed to do more reconnaissance with refugees who had escaped the planet before they sent anyone else there. The _Enterprise_ was to get in, get the ambassador, and get out.

It was pretty hard, though, to extract a prisoner from a military jail without getting involved in the conflict that had put him there, so five hours later Jim and Spock were running through wet, tangled rainforest, their communicators lost, pursued by a group of beefy alien soldiers.

The air was heavy and cloying in Jim’s lungs, and the consequences of his exercise avoidance were suddenly painfully apparent. Spock was way ahead of him, and kept turning around to find Jim farther and farther behind.

Finally he jogged back to Jim and grabbed his arm, slinging it over his own shoulder and taking some of his weight.

“Are you injured, Captain?”

“No, I’m– fine, Spock, just– can’t keep up, you– go ahead.”

“I am not going to leave you behind,” Spock scoffed, and how did he manage to sound so petulant even in the middle of an emergency?

But the shouting of the soldiers was getting louder, and Jim knew they couldn’t get away like this. He briefly considered asking Spock to carry him, but settled instead on tearing himself away, throwing up his arms in surrender as he ran back toward the Hephaen soldiers, screaming, “Go, Spock, go!”

The soldiers were on him in an instant, and as they took him down he saw Spock, horrified, hesitate for only a moment before sprinting away through the trees. Even as someone pulled his arm behind his back so hard that something tore, Jim felt relief infuse him, light and sweet. Without Jim slowing him down, Spock would be able to evade the soldiers with no trouble.

Then a sharp blow collided with his head, and he reeled until a second blow blacked him out completely.

\---

Jim woke up in a small cell and groaned around the ache in his head, the agonizing pain in his shoulder and arm. He was on a bed, at least—he had been captured and imprisoned so many times now it barely fazed him. He’d been held in claustrophobic dirt pits, filthy cells with ancient iron bars, he’d been put in restraints, and once he’d even been put in a water tank with only his head above the surface. At this point, things like a bed and blanket felt like imprisonment luxuries.

He rolled onto his stomach and rested his head on his arms. If he tried to ignore the headache that felt suspiciously like a concussion, this was almost nice—the prison was quiet and actually smelled ok; maybe he could go back to sleep for a little while.

Wait, no. That was definitely not right. Jim sat up (too fast, if the dizziness was any indication) and took a few deep breaths.

He was captain of a starship; he had a mission to complete and an obligation to get back to the _Enterprise_. He didn’t even know for sure if Spock had successfully escaped.

But he was pretty confident that Spock _had_ made his way back to their crew, and was probably planning a rescue mission right now. It would likely make no difference if Jim just slept until someone came to break him out.

No! That was insane and was _not_ an option. Jim took one more deep breath and looked around. He was in a long corridor flanked by two rows of white-barred cells. Everything was bleak but clean, and each cell had a bed and a toilet. Most of the units were empty, but across the aisle from him and down three doors was an Andorian huddled on top of his bed, arms around his knees.

Jim crawled to the edge of his bed and leaned on the bars at the front of his cell.

“Hey!”

The Andorian looked up. He had deep purple bags under his eyes and was quite skinny, but appeared otherwise uninjured.

“You are awake. Hello.”

“Are you Shess, by any chance?”

“I am.”

“Oh, great. I’m Captain James Tiberius Kirk. I’m here to… rescue you.”

Shess raised an eyebrow and his antennae twitched skeptically. Jim sat back on his haunches and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Or, well, I was. Our mission didn’t exactly go as planned.”

“So I see.” Shess’s high voice was sardonic.

“Hopefully someone from my crew will be here soon to break us out.”

Before Shess could respond, a door opened at the end of the cellblock, and one of the hulking Hephaen soldiers came striding over, stopping in front of Jim. He swallowed.

“I see you’re up, Federation pig,” she smiled. Her face was lumpy, eyes small and mean. The smile was incongruous and thus pretty damn unnerving. He didn’t answer.

She cocked her head, looking at him almost indulgently.

“I’m not surprised you don’t answer. I’ve never seen such cowardice before.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll let me contact my ship.”

The soldier threw her head back and laughed. “What would be the point? Even if I did, it’s not as if they’d take you back.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She leaned a shoulder against his bars and gave him that same patronizing smile. “You surrendered and let your underling evade capture. He was taken back up to your ship.”

Jim tried not to let the relief show on his face. Spock had indeed been beamed aboard safely. “Yeah? So?”

“You dishonored him. You forced him to take a coward’s escape. Better to be killed fighting than to survive a coward.”

Oh, ok. So they had some Klingon-style honor code. Had that been in the briefing? Jim had only zoned out once or twice—he hoped he hadn’t missed something that significant.

“Um, sure. Well—”

But the alien cut him off. “In our army, the punishment for dishonoring your comrade is death. But we were so shocked by your behavior that we wanted something a little more… special for you.”

The door at the end of the hallway opened again, and Jim looked around to find Spock being frogmarched toward him by two male soldiers. He wasn’t struggling, and green blood was streaming down his face from a gash over his eye.

“Spock!” Jim shouted, scrambling out of bed, pressing himself against the bars as if they would somehow dissolve under his desperate touch.

Chuckling, the first soldier opened his door but caught him hard by his injured arm, preventing him from rushing to his first officer. Spock was forced to his knees in front of them, and he looked up at Jim with an unreadable expression in the dark circles of his eyes.

Suddenly a phaser was slapped into Jim’s hand, and he looked up at the female soldier in shock. Her eerie smile was back in place.

“We have interplanetary weapons trained on your ship, Captain,” Jim’s stomach dropped and whatever the soldier saw on his face made her laugh. “Oh yes, we know you’re orbiting us. So here’s my offer—you do the right thing and give your first officer the death you cheated him out of, or we destroy your ship and all the little humans aboard her.”

They wanted him to kill Spock. He _had_ to kill Spock, or his 400-person crew would die. Jim glanced helplessly at Spock but his face was still Vulcan-blank.

This was usually where his patented Kirk cleverness kicked in, devising some ridiculous but ultimately effective plan to save the day. But now there was nothing. There was just _nothing_ in his stupid brain, as slow as his stupid body.

Jim didn’t break Spock’s gaze as he pled, “Please. Please, I’ll do anything. Please don’t make me kill him, just—I’ll kill myself, or you can kill me, or just—”

The soldier slammed her meaty fist into his head and he screamed in pain. Spock finally made a move, struggling in the hold of his captors, but one of them kicked him in the side and barked, “Stay still!”

As Jim bent over, gasping, the soldier purred, “I suggest you get on with it, Captain. My patience won’t last forever.”

Jim had started crying, although not entirely from the pain. He slowly straightened back up, met Spock’s eyes again, and leveled the weapon. But his hand was trembling violently—he couldn’t do this. There was simply nothing in him that could pull that trigger and kill Spock.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s alright, Jim,” Spock said quietly. “It will be alright.”

Nearly choking, unable to breathe, Jim tried to aim, but even had he wanted to, he was shaking too hard to accomplish it.

“I’m so sorry,” he sobbed again, but suddenly there was a burst of activity at the end of the cellblock, and all three soldiers swiveled to look. Spock exploded into action, tearing out of the huge hands restraining him and rushing to nerve pinch the female soldier as phaser blasts sailed down the hallway, neatly taking out the other two.

As they fell, Jim caught sight of Uhura leading a security team toward him, all of them looking scuffed and battle-weary. Sobbing, panicking, sliding quickly into shock, he fell to his knees and threw the phaser away from him in horror. Uhura jogged up to Spock, squeezing his shoulder.

“You ok?”

“I am. Well done.”

“Thanks. Come on, we’ve only got a three-minute window until we’re detected.”

She rushed over to Shess’s cage, breaking the lock with the butt of her phaser and herding Shess out. Spock pulled Jim up, supporting him with a strong arm around the waist.

“I was going to kill you!” Jim shouted, trying to wrench away from him, but Spock held fast, steering them down the hallway behind the security team.

“I was never going to let you kill me, Captain—that was only a ploy in the rescue plan Lieutenant Uhura and I devised.”

“W– what?”

Spock glanced sideways at him, still holding tight. “We will have to discuss it later, Captain.”

“Spock, come _on_ ,” Nyota hissed over her shoulder. Spock clutched Jim tighter, practically lifting him off the ground, and rushed him forward. Everything in Jim’s line of vision swam and spun, and as he stumbled along, he found one of Spock’s hands and held it tight, tight.

\---

They debriefed in medbay. Nothing official, just Uhura and Spock filling Jim in, pleased with themselves and fighting to give credit to each other.

According to their report, after Jim had surrendered to the Hephaens, Spock had managed to find the rest of the landing party and beam back up. He and Uhura had decided that Spock would turn himself in as a diversion, hoping that the Hephaens would take him to Jim as punishment for what they would have seen as Jim’s cowardly act.

“I was freaked out at the idea of letting Spock use himself as bait,” Uhura said, putting her hand on Spock’s arm, “but it was a really insightful idea on his part. Using their honor code against them.”

Jim blinked up from his place on the biobed. He felt distressingly numb, could summon nothing but vague sensations of guilt and bitter jealousy. Bones had healed Spock’s cut and then turned his attention to Jim’s concussion and torn rotator cuff. He had tried to force Jim to wait for Spock and Uhura’s report until he was released from sickbay, but Jim had pulled the captain card and overridden him. Bones was still hovering and scanning him here and there, although Jim was fairly certain he had finished any actual treatments several minutes ago.

“The honor code thing,” he asked, “That wasn’t in the briefing, right?”

Uhura shook her head. “Nope. Spock put it together based on their reaction when you told him to run and some of the info we did have.” She grinned up at Spock. “You’ve got one smart first officer, Captain.”

Spock gave her an indulgent look. “Lieutenant Uhura is overstating the situation, Captain. I merely made several assumptions about their culture that, thankfully, proved to be correct. The plan was only successful because Lieutenant Uhura fulfilled her part of it. Forcing her way through the guards outside of the jail was no easy task.”

Jim cleared his throat. He was too tired and fucked up to watch them flirt.

“Good work, both of you. Spock, can you write up the details for me? I’ll review them thoroughly tomorrow once I’ve had a good night’s sleep.”

Spock nodded. “Of course, Captain. We will leave you to rest.”

But he lingered for a moment, scanning Jim’s face with those inkblot eyes. “I apologize if I caused you excessive distress with the ploy I devised, Captain. We were moving quickly; I perhaps did not think through the emotional impact of forcing you to believe you needed to terminate my life.”

Jim tried very hard for nonchalance but probably failed. “You did what you had to do, Spock. It was a good plan. I got us into that mess in the first place ‘cause I couldn’t keep up while they were chasing us.”

Spock’s fingers lighted on his arm, so softly Jim could barely feel it.

“This mission was not our neatest success, but it was still a success.”

“Yeah. We can talk more about it tomorrow.”

Spock nodded again and his fingers trailed against Jim’s arm before he let go completely. Jim found himself unable to meet Spock’s eyes as he and Uhura left.

When they were alone, he glanced up and found Bones watching him. “I suppose I have to stay the night.”

Bones didn’t answer right away, staring at him appraisingly. Jim could tell there were many, many things he wanted to say, but surprisingly he just tapped Jim’s leg with his his PADD and said, “Nah, go on back to your quarters. Your injuries are healed and I know you hate it in here. Medical leave tomorrow, though.”

Jim thought he was being unnecessarily generous, probably because Jim was so obviously upset. He would undoubtedly have his say later, when Jim was rested. But Jim would take what he could get, so he dressed quickly and fled before Bones could change his mind.

\---

Bones probably should have kept Jim overnight.

Jim sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him that, but he couldn’t help thinking it as he knelt on the floor, gasping for breath and scream-crying through his teeth. He felt ridiculous, but he was terrified nonetheless.

Spock’s deep, empty eyes—they hadn’t even looked surprised. Like he had expected Jim to get them into a situation like this, had just been waiting for Jim to inadvertently get him killed.

Jim fell forward onto his hands and knees. He couldn’t even make it to the bed, frozen in place by terrible, vibrating panic as those moments in the cellblock replayed themselves endlessly in his mind’s eye.

He was vaguely aware that he was shouting Spock’s name but didn’t know if it was out loud or in his head. But then strong hands closed on his upper arms, pushing him up until his head lolled back and he found Spock kneeling in front of him.

“Jim! Jim, look at me.”

Jim’s eyes focused and unfocused on Spock’s worried face, hands finding their way to fist in Spock’s uniform.

“I almost killed you!”

His own voice was strange in his ears, raw, too high, as if he had been crying for longer than he realized.

Unexpectedly, Spock pulled Jim to him, strong hands on Jim’s back, holding him up. Jim’s arms went automatically around Spock’s neck and he screamed into his shoulder.

“You believed you had to kill me in order to save the ship, Jim.”

“I don’t care! I don’t care!”

Spock’s fingers rubbed firmly and slowly along Jim’s spine, trying to calm him. He pitched his voice low and soft and said, “But Jim, that is the essential point. You would never willingly hurt me.”

Jim gasped against the warm haven of Spock’s neck. He clutched at him, tried to hold tighter. He wanted to crawl into Spock’s lap, wrap his legs around him, be held until he wasn’t afraid anymore. But even as far-gone as he was, he managed to resist that most inappropriate of actions.

“I can’t keep you safe,” he sobbed.

He thought he heard Spock whisper, “Oh, Jim,” against his hair, but he couldn’t be sure.

“What if Uhura had come a minute later? I might have already fired!”

Spock’s palms flattened out and started stroking over Jim’s back and flanks. “But she did not. The reality is that I am safe, and you are safe. Try to focus upon that fact, Jim—hold it in your mind and breathe deeply.”

He tried, focused on Spock’s chest against his own, their thighs pressed together in this slightly awkward kneeling position. He let himself take and take and take, drink in the forbidden feeling of being tucked up in Spock’s arms.

“We are here,” Spock said softly. “We are safe.”

Jim began to calm down. It happened suddenly and continued with such a gentle efficiency that he suspected Spock was giving his mind a telepathic nudge. Nothing invasive, just a shallow mental suggestion. It was still intimate, far beyond the bounds of Vulcan telepathic propriety, and Jim leaned into it, reveling in the slight tingling inside his head.

Spock’s hands were still roaming over his back, and one had snuck under his shirt, probably to facilitate the telepathic assistance. Jim slumped, exhausted. He had to hold on to the back of Spock’s shirt to keep his arms from slipping down to his sides.

“Whatever you’re doing to my brain is making me sleepy,” he muttered, lips still against Spock’s throat.

“I am not doing anything to your brain.”

“Liar.” Jim was starting to slur, and he rested his head more heavily on Spock’s shoulder.

Spock tightened his arms around Jim and helped him stand, but Jim kept leaning on him, not supporting his own weight. “You should rest, Jim.”

Jim couldn’t help himself from rubbing his face on Spock’s shoulder. “‘M so tired.”

Spock tried to steer him toward the bed but, thwarted by Jim’s limp weight, picked him up without preamble and carried him over, placing him carefully on the mattress.

Jim blinked blearily up as Spock neatened the blankets and tucked them around him. His tongue was clumsy and slow but still, out of habit, he teased, “How often do you resist just picking me up and making me do something?”

“More often than I care to say,” Spock said. His almost sardonic tone made Jim want to laugh, but that was so at odds with the rest of what he was feeling that he just kind of whimpered hysterically.

Spock looked down at him with concern. Then he was touching Jim again, hands rubbing at his arms. Jim just barely heard him say, “It should not have left you this disoriented.”

“The thing you didn’t do to my brain?”

Spock pushed his hair back from his forehead. Somewhere in the fog of Jim’s thoughts, he registered that Spock had never touched him this freely.

“Don’t worry,” he reassured. “I’m tired all the time, it’s not your fault. Thanks… for whatever you did. For helping me calm down.”

Spock just stared at him for a while, scanning his face like he would his tricorder, as if the cut of Jim’s bones would reveal something to him if he looked hard enough.

“We should discuss your fatigue with Dr. McCoy.”

 _We_. Why were they a _we_ all of a sudden?

Jim didn’t answer; he was too tired to embark upon this particular line of inquiry.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

“There is no need—”

“No, there _is_. I was too slow on this mission, way too slow. Didn’t move fast, didn’t think fast, I wasn’t—fuck!” The guilt and the fear came back in a rush and he tried to sit up on his elbows. “Fuck Spock, I’m so sorry, oh my God—”

Spock pushed him back down and let his fingers slide to Jim’s neck, not even trying to be subtle this time about what he was doing.

But Jim batted his hand away. “No! No, don’t just do that, don’t take my emotions away without asking!”

Spock’s eyes went slightly wide, as if he had only just now realized that his telepathic meddling was perhaps not totally appropriate, and by Vulcan standards was downright sordid.

“Forgive me. I was being presumptuous. But please, Jim, let me help. You are currently too upset to rationally discuss the mission, and at this moment all that is important is that you rest.”

“Spock, I almost _killed you_!”

“We can discuss it further tomorrow. For now, you _must_ sleep. You sustained serious injuries and your body and mind are exhausted. _Please_. Let me help.”

His hand had never left Jim’s neck. He was sitting on Jim’s bed, hands all over him, talking openly and emotionally and they had never gone _quite_ this far, tread this deep into the unspoken territory between them.

This close to a line he wasn’t supposed to cross, Jim’s instinct was always to push his luck, get just a little bit closer.

“Can you stay here tonight?”

Spock stared at him for a long moment, and Jim fully expected him to say no. What he did not expect was Spock nodding, matter-of-fact, and saying, “Yes, of course. Allow me to perform my nightly grooming and then I will return.”

He stood without another word and disappeared into the bathroom. Jim lay somewhat shocked against his pillows.

 _Don’t do this, Kirk_ , he warned himself, thinking of Uhura sleeping alone, almost certainly not expecting her boyfriend to crawl into the Captain’s bed.

But the panic and guilt were already building again, and he wanted Spock against him, solid and safe and _alive_ , and he wasn’t sure he could take not having that.

Friends shared a bed sometimes, in extreme moments like this. Bones had slept with Jim a hundred times, and that was never anything but platonic.

Of course, he wasn’t in love with Bones, wasn’t desperate for each touch and glance, each little approval, the tiny curl of an alien smile. With Spock it was _different_ , and he knew it, but he willed himself to pretend he was ignorant. He just wanted this, this one little thing.

Spock came back in a Vulcan night robe, beautiful in the low light of Jim’s sleeping area. As he laid his communicator on the bedside table, Jim whispered, “Are you sure this is ok?”

Spock looked up and held his gaze. “Yes,” he said, and Jim could swear there was something more in that word that he wanted Jim to understand, but he was probably just imagining things.

Spock lifted up the covers and Jim shuffled over to make room.

“Turn on your side,” Spock instructed, and Jim did, nervous that Spock didn’t want to see his face while they did this. But then one long, heavy arm slipped around his waist, tight and reassuring.

Spock tucked his face into Jim’s shoulder and, again, slipped his hand just under the hem of Jim’s shirt.

“May I help your mind settle?” he asked, apparently chastised for providing telepathic help without permission.

Jim barely heard him, lost as he was in the long-desired sensation of having Spock against him like this.

“Ok,” he said eventually, and felt the warm tingle wash over his brain, a little stronger this time. He was almost instantly on the brink of sleep but managed to mumble, “Thank you for this. All of this.”

“Of course, Jim,” Spock breathed against his skin. There was one more pulse of warmth through the tangle of Jim’s mind, and then he fell effortlessly asleep.

\---

Sometimes, in the eerie no-place between sleep and consciousness, Jim imagined that sunlight was streaming in through the porthole, turning the insides of his eyelids red. The light of a warm morning, a bright day.

But he only ever awoke to ship’s dawn, cold and blue, all organization of time artificial and tenuous.

Lately, morning had been the time when any positive feelings—sometimes any feelings at all—were the most elusive.

But this morning, the warmth curled around him was no dream, real and breathing steadily against him.

Jim had rolled over sometime in the night, resting his head on Spock’s chest and sinking deep into the circle of his arms. His hand was against one of Spock’s, their fingers overlapping. He carefully moved his away before Spock could wake up—the touch of their hands was basically the same as waking up with his lips against Spock’s mouth.

Slowly, he extracted himself completely, propping himself up on an elbow and looking down into Spock’s sleeping face. He stared, trying not to think, until Spock started stirring, probably cold without Jim against him.

When his eyes fluttered open and found Jim above him, he smiled, soft and expressive in the wake of unconsciousness.

“Good morning, Jim.”

“Morning.”

He didn’t seem at all uncomfortable with waking up in Jim’s bed, but Jim couldn’t help blurting out, “Look, I’m sorry about last night. I’m sorry you had to deal with my freakout.”

Spock pulled himself up, creaky and slow. Jim had never seen him like this, he realized. Sure, they’d woken up next to each other on away missions countless times, but never having shared a bed, never without some looming mission demanding their immediate attention. The languor of Spock’s heavy alien muscles, his messy hair, the green mark on the cheek he’d had against the pillow—it was enough to break Jim’s heart a thousand times over.

“There is no need to apologize,” Spock said, his voice rough, even deeper than usual. “I am happy that I was able to help you.”

Jim had no energy for his usual teasing: _You? Happy?_ He just stared at Spock some more, already exhausted again after only a few minutes of being awake. He was embarrassed—painfully embarrassed—but he was also just too damn tired to do anything about it.

“You helped more than you can know,” he said finally. “Thanks. I don’t deserve you.”

Spock’s pinky finger bumped against his. It was almost certainly an accident, since anything else would imply that Spock had basically just kissed him on the cheek or something.

“I strongly disagree with that sentiment.”

Jim had no desire to engage in that particular debate, so he didn’t respond.

“Um, I hope it really was ok that I asked you to sleep here. I know you value your personal space.”

Spock had never stopped looking directly at him. He seemed oddly… _comfortable_ with all of this, which Jim found unnerving, confusing.

“It was more than ‘ok,’” Spock said quietly. “I found this sleeping arrangement quite agreeable.”

What the hell was Jim supposed to do with _that_?

“Oh, um. Ok. I’m… glad.”

Spock’s hand shifted and covered Jim’s entirely. Ok, that was no accident.

“Jim, you are my commanding officer. You are also my friend. I have been, and ever shall be… yours.”

Jim’s breath caught.

“Please,” Spock went on. “I know you are struggling with something. Know that should you wish to discuss it with me, I am eager to listen.”

Jim couldn’t resist; he flipped his hand over and grasped Spock’s.

“Thanks,” he whispered. For a few moments they just took each other in, curved together in Jim’s bed. “I… I need to think about what happened yesterday and just… Can we maybe talk later? About the mission and… and stuff?”

“Of course,” Spock rubbed his thumb against Jim’s, a gesture which felt _extremely_ intimate. “As Dr. McCoy has put you on medical leave for the day, perhaps we can reconvene tomorrow. Today I suggest you simply rest.”

Jim could have so easily nestled back against his chest, shoved them back down into bed to press against each other, deeper and deeper until there were no lines between them, no borders.

Instead, he slipped his hand out of Spock’s, mustered his best fake smile. “Sounds good. Thanks. You’d better get to the bridge.”

\---

That night, stars whipping past the tiny porthole of Jim’s quarters, Bones poured them each a shot and looked off into the void.

“So your depression’s back.”

Jim rolled his eyes. Even though he had been expecting it, he really hated when Bones doctored in their personal time.

“What makes you think that?” he said airily, but he knew he was caught. Bones could see through him like no one else.

“The Hephae mission, obviously. Listen,” he leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees, and Jim knew this was about to get serious and uncomfortable. “I’m concerned about your reaction to thinking you needed to kill Spock. From the way he told it, you just kinda… froze. You didn’t try to get out of it, didn’t pull one of your stunts—”

“You hate my stunts,” Jim muttered, but Bones ignored him.

“It’s a red flag, Jim. Your critical thinking is compromised, and that indicates depression to me. I do recognize the signs, you know, after the eight goddamn years I’ve spent treating you for intermittent depression. And you’ve stopped exercising; you know that had an impact when you were running from the Hephaens.”

“Oh really? It’s a _problem_ that I’m too fat to move my ass and it almost ended with me _killing_ Spock? I had no idea!”

“I don’t give a damn about your size or shape. Your position necessitates athletic ability, not to mention cognitive function. I’m not saying that to make you feel guilty—it’s not your fault you don’t have motivation to be active. I just want to help you get back on track. Exercising will help with both the physical and the mental symptoms, you know that.”

Jim shrugged, an agitated twitch. “I was planning to go use the punching bag tomorrow, ok? I even made room in my schedule for it.”

“Ok, good. Can I hold you to that? Maybe encourage you to go tomorrow if you’re not feeling like it?”

“Sure, whatever.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“I know, Bones. Thanks.”

“You really should talk to him.”

“Who?” Jim asked, feigning ignorance.

“Don’t be an infant.”

Jim put his hand over his heart in a melodramatic show of hurt. “You know, I _am_ a trauma survivor, there’s plenty of shit for me to be depressed about. Dead dad, abusive childhood, Tarsus, my post-death identity as a zombie that you refuse to validate—it’s kinda offensive, actually, that you’re trying to reduce my serious mental health issues to some stupid crush.”

Bones raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so you’re ready to go to therapy for your childhood trauma? I’m so glad to hear it; I’ll get you set up.”

Well, fuck. Jim had set his own trap on that one.

“I take that back,” he muttered.

Bones rolled his eyes and moved on. Jim had no illusions that he was actually letting the matter drop; he just had something more urgent to discuss right now. “Having complicated feelings about your first officer isn’t just a stupid crush.”

Jim sighed. “I _know_ , Bones. But this isn’t about him, ok? It’s just… like you said, I get like this sometimes. The mission’s hard. I… I’m feeling a little burnt out, I’ll admit.”

“No shit. Your efficiency rating is dropping. More noticeably in areas that involve one-on-one interaction with Spock.”

“Have you met him? He’s kind of an annoying bastard.”

“Jim.”

Jim huffed a frustrated sigh and drained his drink, leaning forward to pour another.

“Look, I hear you,” he acquiesced, “But it’s not _just_ Spock, ok?”

“I know that, Jim. In a significant episode of major depressive disorder like this,” Jim flinched at the casual use of the imposing clinical terminology, “there’s never one neat cause, and certainly no easy cure.” Bones jabbed his finger in Jim’s direction. “But you know the Spock thing is a big factor, don’t even try to deny it.”

“I mean, yeah, things can get a little weird between us. Because of me, and… the things I feel about Spock. And he probably feels pretty awkward around me since this depression thing started happening given how, well, _emotional_ I am, for lack of a better word.”

Bones raised an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. “He knows you’re a human, and he knows some of your issues. I don’t think you give him enough credit sometimes; he understands you better than you think.”

Jim chuckled. “Look at you, defending Spock. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Jim, can you be serious for five seconds?”

Jim jolted up and started pacing. He _hated_ this. He hated the intimacy of it, the exposure.

“What do you want me to do? I’m doing everything I can.”

“I want you to accept help, damnit. Let me _treat_ you. Let Spock take more of your work. Let us _help_.”

“Who says I’m fucking stopping you?”

Jim hadn’t meant to shout.

After a few long moments, Bones sighed into the silence. “Ok, then. Can I come up with a treatment plan for you? Are you willing to _try_ to follow it?”

Jim clenched his teeth, but finally nodded once. “Fine. I’ll try.”

\---

Jim hovered in the doorway between the gym and the changing room. He had come down early in the morning to avoid Bones’s hassling altogether: when he appeared to remind Jim of his scheduled workout Jim would be able to tell him he’d already done it.

But now that he was here in his red workout tights and an old t-shirt, Jim felt heavy and tired, totally unwilling to do much of anything. The tights were digging into his hips, giving him love handles, and he felt ungainly and self-conscious.

“Hello, Captain.”

Jim jumped and looked around. Spock had just appeared from the sparring room and was probably on his way to the showers. He was wearing nothing but the red tights, a fine sheen of sweat on his skin, green with exertion. Heat pooled in Jim’s belly at the sight of him. He wanted to lick that sweat off, up over an olive nipple, right up to the strong clavicle, and then up—

“I apologize. I did not mean to startle you.”

Jim swallowed. Why would someone as gorgeous as Spock want Jim’s anxiety-lumpy body? _Fool_ , he thought, dismissing his fantasies. “It’s ok. I was just… deciding if I actually wanted to work out or not.”

He laughed weakly but Spock clearly wasn’t convinced, based on his raised eyebrow. It was the first time they had seen each other since they had woken up together in Jim’s bed, and there was an undeniable awkwardness, an uncertainty.

“I have never before heard you express a reluctance to exercise,” Spock said.

Jim shrugged. “I just haven’t been feeling it lately.”

Spock cocked his head as if in realization. “This is the cause of your atypically reduced running speed during the mission on Hephae.”

A crawling flush prickled Jim’s skin and he started to sweat. _Pig. See? He finds you repulsive_. “Um. Yeah. I’m– I’m sorry. I know it’s dangerous for me to be out of shape.”

“I did not mean to imply any fault on your part,” Spock assured him. “As I expressed two nights ago, I see no reason to place blame on you. I merely did not realize you were struggling in this way.”

“It’s ok,” Jim said cautiously. “I mean, I’m here now. I’m… I’m working on it.”

“I can encourage you to seek exercise at regular intervals, if that would be helpful.”

Jim resisted the urge to jerk his head with agitation. “I’ve already got Bones henpecking me about it. I don’t need you doing it too.”

Spock looked away and Jim instantly regretted his sharp tone. “Fuck, sorry, I didn’t mean to be nasty. I just… constant reminders are really stressful.”

He was relieved when Spock made eye contact again. “Very well. Would it be acceptable, then, if I were to merely make myself available to assist with partnered exercise you enjoy? Currently, for instance, I have not tired myself to exhaustion and would be happy to spar with you.”

 _Oh yes_ , Jim thought sarcastically, _rolling around on a mat, pressed against your hard, sweaty body—that’ll help._

But Spock was being so sincere, trying so earnestly, and Jim had already snapped at him. It would be too mean to turn him down.

“Ok, Spock. Thanks.”

So, five minutes later, he found himself pinned to the floor under Spock, his usually strong arms weak and ineffective. Spock’s face swallowed his entire line of vision, green cheeks, bright eyes, perfect hair askew.

“Fuck,” Jim panted. “I guess I need you to go easy on me today.”

Spock’s brief hesitation told Jim that he _had_ been going easy on him, but he just said, “Of course, Captain,” and lifted his warm weight from Jim’s body, reaching down to help him up.

He got Jim on his back three more times. Jim finally gave up with a frustrated shout, slamming his fists into the mat before going limp in surrender.

Spock, bizarrely making no move to get off of Jim, looked down at him sympathetically.

“It will take time to regain your strength, Jim. As I previously stated, I am happy to assist.”

Jim panted underneath him. He was suddenly _very_ aware of how heavy Spock was, and that Jim’s shirt had ridden up so that their bare, sweaty stomachs were sliding together. He swallowed hard, too uncomfortable to keep eye contact but afraid he would give himself away if he broke it. Spock still wasn’t moving, staring down at him with his hands on either side of Jim’s head. His pupils were blown black and his green flush had deepened, and as he shifted his hips just slightly, his cock brushed against Jim’s own.

Jim had never been especially _controlled_ when it came to arousal, even less so as applied to Spock, and before he really had time to process it he was totally, achingly hard under the press of Spock’s body.

Spock’s breath hitched just slightly as Jim blushed absolutely everywhere. He tried to squirm away but _still_ Spock didn’t move, and the friction against Jim’s erection resulted only in a mortifying little moan escaping him.

“Do not be embarrassed,” Spock said lowly, correctly interpreting Jim’s reaction. “It is a normal physiological response during athletic contact.”

What was probably _not_ normal was how Spock twitched his hips again and why the _hell_ wasn’t he getting off? At the absolute limit of humiliation, Jim pushed hard at Spock’s chest and hissed. “Fuck, get _off_ me!”

Spock’s expression shut down instantly, and he scrambled off of Jim at warp speed. Jim sat up and curled in on himself, trying pointlessly to hide the evidence of his debilitating attraction.

“I apologize,” Spock said. “I did not intend to make you uncomfortable."

“Well, you did,” Jim snapped defensively.

The tentative closeness that had built between them two nights ago was gone completely, and Jim felt out-of-place, awkward, ridiculous.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I just… I didn’t want that to happen.”

He couldn’t bring himself to look at Spock, but he felt him tense. After a long, painful moment, Spock got up and stood stiffly at the edge of Jim’s vision.

“Please forgive me, Captain. I believe I… misinterpreted the situation.”

Jim looked up, confused, but Spock had already whipped around and fled toward the showers. What did he mean by that? _How_ had he interpreted “the situation”?

 _He knows_ , Jim realized. _He thought you just got a random boner but then he realized what really happened and you disgusted him. Now he knows. Good job, Kirk._

Heaviness stole over Jim’s muscles again and he let himself fall back onto the mat. He was due on the bridge soon but for many, many minutes, he couldn’t make himself move.

\---

They never did get to talk about Jim’s reaction to the Hephae mission, or about how Spock could help him. They certainly never talked about The Incident in the sparring room. After that, things with Spock changed completely.

Spock stopped asking Jim over for socializing, stopped interacting with him at all unless it was about work. At first, Jim tried to figure out what was going on, but Spock deflected all of his attempts to talk. Something had gone terribly wrong, and Jim didn’t know how to fix it.

Over the next two months, they barely talked at all. Spock drifted away, and even on duty he was stiff and closed-off. Jim didn’t know exactly why their awful interaction in the gym that day had made Spock hate him, but his best guess was that somehow, up till then, Spock had never realized Jim was in love with him. He _had_ tried to hide it but hadn’t thought he was very successful. But maybe he had been, and the revelation revolted Spock, infuriated him.

Every time Jim stood up to bang on Spock’s door and demand they talk it out, the heavy exhaustion stole over him again, the gym memory threatened to drown him in horrifying embarrassment, and he chose instead to stay put.

He was true to the treatments Bones had prescribed: he worked out, he went to the ship’s therapist, he followed Bones’s nutrition plan for officers with eating disorders.

But it was all only helpful to a point. Sure, he had struggled with mental health stuff most of his life, and this was by no means his first bout of depression, but right now the main problem was Spock. Not only was he not in love with Jim, now he _hated_ him. Jim found it utterly shameful to admit, even to himself, that such a thing could send him into so severe a downward spiral, but that didn’t make it less true.

His efficiency rating continued to plummet, and crew morale dipped. Something had to change; if things stayed like this the crew would eventually be at risk. If Jim and Spock couldn’t work together anymore, if Jim’s depression and pathetic unrequited love were getting in the way, the most responsible choice was to remove himself from Spock’s orbit.

The announcement of shore leave on Yorktown was met with universal excitement. They had been long in the big empty, and everyone was eager for the Earth-like delights of the new starbase. Jim didn’t think he’d ever seen Sulu so excited, and the overall boost of crew morale was a bittersweet satisfaction.

Bittersweet because when the _Enterprise_ left Yorktown, Jim wouldn’t be on it.

He needed to tell Spock, but fuck if he knew how.

“Chess tonight?” he asked one day after Alpha. Spock hadn’t invited him for chess since The Incident, of course, but Jim didn’t really know how else to get Spock alone. He watched Spock’s eyes flick to Uhura and resisted the urge to withdraw the invitation. Whatever had fractured between them, Spock was still his first officer and needed to know that he was going to be offered a captaincy very soon.

But Spock, not looking at him, said, “I apologize, Captain, but I am unavailable tonight.”

“O– oh. Ok. Well, it would be good to, um. Catch up, or whatever. Soon. If you have the time.”

Spock nodded. He still hadn’t made eye contact. “I will inform you if I am available. Good night, Captain.”

“Good night, Spock.”

\---

_The farther out we go, the more I find myself wondering what it is we’re trying to accomplish. If the universe is truly endless, then are we not striving for something forever out of reach?_

Jim’s ship was gone. His glorious _Enterprise_ , torn apart in the cold expanse of space like a piece of meat thrown to wild dogs.

He had abandoned her; he had sent the crew out in the lifepods that hadn’t saved his father. As he rocketed out and away from his sinking ship, he wondered why he deserved to be saved—his dad had gone down with his ship, why shouldn’t he?

And then there was Spock. Spock, delirious and bleeding in his arms. Spock going back to rescue Uhura. Spock saving him, saving him, one last time.

_We will do what we have always done, Jim. We will find hope in the impossible._

The Krall disaster had been a rare flash of their normal affinity, and Spock dragging him out of death’s inexorable slipstream had felt almost romantic in the moment. That was ridiculous, of course, a quirk of adrenaline; it was literally Spock’s job to keep his captain alive.

The echoes of that adrenaline rush had lasted a couple of days, long enough for Jim to give up the chance to leave his captaincy. By the time the reality of losing his ship and so much of his crew sank in, and his depression came crashing back down around him, Spock had already become distant again. And the vice admiral position had already been filled.

**Present**

Of all the bars on the station, Jim liked The Alexandria best—it was dark and private, bookcases lining the walls full of old paper books. He had noticed that Spock and Uhura liked it too, so tonight he edged in carefully.

They weren’t there, but somewhere around Jim’s second scotch, Uhura wandered in by herself. Figuring she was meeting Spock, Jim ducked his head before they made eye contact, but was forced to look up when Uhura stopped at his elbow with a cheerful, “Hey!”

“Hey,” Jim said, hoping his smile was convincing. “You and Spock meeting up?”

“Nah, he’s doing an after-hours tour of one of the physics labs, and I’m in more of an alcohol mood than a nerd mood. Mind if I join you?”

“Please.” Jim gestured to the seat across from him. Uhura hadn’t stopped being nice to him just because her boyfriend hated him now, and Jim appreciated that.

Uhura smiled her big, bright smile. “Great. I’m going to grab a drink from the bar first—want another?”

“Yeah, that’d be great, actually. Double scotch on the rocks. Thanks.”

An hour later, Uhura was on her second beer and Jim was thinking about a fourth scotch even though it was probably a terrible idea. Their conversation about the communications system on the new ship had fizzled into comfortable silence.

Uhura sighed and rested her cheek in her hand. “This is probably wildly inappropriate but I’m desperate. Have you found anywhere good on this station to get laid? Preferably by ladyish aliens?”

Jim blinked.

Jim opened his mouth.

Jim closed his mouth.

Jim caught the waiter’s eyes and signaled for a fourth scotch.

“Jesus,” Uhura said. “You’ve had too much sex in your life to be this prudish.”

“Uhura!” Jim hissed, leaning over the table toward her. “You can’t just _ask_ me something like that, not when Spock is…” He wanted to say “one of my best friends,” but that didn’t feel right anymore and he trailed off. Uhura laughed.

“What the hell does Spock have to do with it?” Jim felt like he was going crazy. Uhura was one of the most ethical people he knew, and here she was _laughing_ about cheating on Spock. On _Spock_!

“What does he have to do with it? What does your _boyfriend_ have to do with you asking around for alien pussy?”

“I didn’t say it had to be pussy—wait, what? Did you just... seriously call Spock my boyfriend?”

“Um, yes? Unless you guys quietly became non-monogamous—and somehow Spock really doesn’t strike me as the type—it seems like you’re asking me to help you _cheat on my first officer_!”

Uhura sat back, staring at him in what appeared to be absolute shock.

“Jim. Oh god, _Jim_.”

She looked upset, almost… sad? Jim’s scotch arrived and he downed in one go. When he had finished, Uhura was still staring at him.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Just because I like to sleep around sometimes doesn’t mean I’m a homewrecker, ok? If you make a promise to someone, I think you should keep it. Sorry if that makes me old-fashioned or whatever, but to be honest I thought you’d agree.”

Uhura leaned forward, holding his eyes earnestly, urgently. “I _do_ agree. I don’t do cheating, either. Jim, Spock and I haven’t been together for _four years_. We broke up while you were still in your coma after Khan.”

Had the space station just noticeably spun on its axis? No, everything was still in place so it must have just been Jim’s universe violently shifting.

“Jim,” Uhura whispered, and he was shocked to see that she was almost tearing up. “Is this why you haven’t gotten together with Spock?”

Jim laughed, although absolutely nothing was funny. “Um, Spock… doesn’t have feelings for me… he’s with you…”

Uhura reached over and took his hand. She never did that casually.

“Are you serious? Are you actually, honestly serious? You’re not shitting me?”

Jim wasn’t sure he remembered how to speak, so he just nodded. Uhura took a deep breath.

“Jim, he’s been in love with you this whole time. It’s so _painfully, stupidly_ obvious that you’re in love with him too that he kept hoping, for _so long_. Back when we had that mission on Hephae II, he told me he thought you were coming around. He thought you guys were on the verge of getting together. But when you pushed him away in the gym that day, he thought you were finally giving him an answer and telling him you weren’t interested. After that, he just gave up. That’s why he was going back to New Vulcan.”

Jim realized vaguely that he had starting shaking. “No, he was going back to make babies and that’s why you broke up. We… we found you guys and saved everybody from Krall because you were wearing Spock’s mom’s necklace. Which he gave you because you’re his girlfriend. Bones told Spock, ‘you gave your girlfriend a tracking device.’ I was there, I heard him. And then you were all cozy at my birthday party so I figured… you’d worked things out.”

Uhura squeezed his hand and closed her eyes. She was so upset, and Jim didn’t understand anything that was happening, or had happened, ever in the history of the universe.

Finally she took another deep breath and opened her eyes. “Spock and I are best friends. He’s the most important person in my life. We still touch and stuff because we’re so close. That’s why Leonard calls me his girlfriend—it's like when people call you and Len an old married couple. It’s a joke, Jim. He’s teasing.”

Bones _had_ been remarkably callous when he told Jim how he'd asked Spock about the breakup when they disembarked, and again while Spock was injured. It had seemed weird to Jim that he would be so dismissive of what was probably a really painful situation for Spock and Uhura, but he had figured that was because they were already back together and things were fine. Jim swallowed. The fourth whiskey was hitting him and it was only making him more confused.

“I wear Amanda’s necklace,” Uhura went on, “because I was very close to her before she died, when Spock and I _were_ dating. I loved her so much, and I miss her all the time. Spock gave me her necklace after the _Va’Pak_ to remember her by. I was only trying to give it back because if he really was leaving, I didn’t want him to be without one of the only things left of her.” She looked away. “And to be totally honest I was also kind of trying to guilt trip him by giving it back. I was pissed that he was leaving. That he wouldn’t at least _tell you_ what he was feeling instead of making subtle Vulcan overtures and assuming he knew what you wanted.

“He was just running away from his emotions, he was going to leave me without my best friend and the person I rely on more than anyone else. And leave you alone, heartbroken and depressed.”

Jim jumped, snatching his hand away, instantly suspicious. How did she know? Uhura flinched.

“Shit, sorry. I just… you know how I am, with body language and stuff. I just… I can tell how much pain you’re in right now. I’m sorry.”

Jim relaxed just a fraction. Bones was supposed to be the only one who knew about the depression, and even that was only because he had been the one to diagnose it.

“That’s ok,” he whispered, looking at his lap. “Thanks.”

Uhura was kind enough to drop that particular subject, but Jim heard her take out her communicator and start tapping the screen.

“I’m telling Spock to head back to his quarters. Go talk to him. I’ll get your tab.”

Jim looked up in horror. “Wait, Uhura, no!” He lunged for her communicator. She held it out of his reach.

“No!” she said, “You two are stupid, and you’re both unhappy for no reason! You at least had an excuse, but now you don’t. Go!”

Jim left the bar in a huff but went to his own quarters, not Spock’s. He wasn’t going to just barge in on Spock and go, “Hey, I hear we’re in love! Guess we’re boyfriends now, hooray!”

He wasn’t sure he even believed Uhura. Was it remotely possible that Spock had been acting differently not because of Jim’s ridiculous, uncontrolled emotions, but because he had started to believe that Jim would never love him?

No. That was, frankly, absurd. Uhura was brilliant, one of the most brilliant people he knew, but clearly her affection for Spock was clouding her judgment.

Had they really broken up right after Khan, though? How could he have missed something so significant for four fucking years?

Jim put on his pajamas and crawled into bed to hide. The command team had all been given small two-room apartments for their stay on Yorktown, bigger than their _Enterprise_ quarters but spartan, unfamiliar. He stared at the colorless ceiling, trying not to think about anything at all. But he couldn’t help asking himself the same question over and over again—how could he not have known?

Clearly, no one had thought to tell him when the breakup happened, for the obvious reason that he was recovering from, you know, death. But how had it _never_ come up any time after that?

He supposed the only person who might have realized Jim’s mistake was Bones, and Jim shut him down fast whenever he tried to broach the topic of Jim’s feelings for Spock. They had probably just never talked about it enough for Bones to figure out what Jim was thinking.

After a while, it probably would have seemed absurd to anyone that Jim didn’t know. It just seemed so _stupid_ , such a ridiculous mistake. A million little moments over the years preventing him from finding out.

His door chimed after only five minutes of his ruminating.

“Who is it?” he called, although he had a pretty strong suspicion.

“It is Spock.”

Yeah. No surprise there.

Jim sat up, kicking off his blanket and dropping his legs over the side of the bed.

“Come,” he called.

He heard the door open and then Spock appeared in his bedroom doorway, broadcasting Vulcan agitation: tight shoulders, knife-sharp spine, features _too_ blank.

“Hey, Spock.”

“I spoke to Nyota. She indicated that she had asked you to visit my temporary residence.”

“Yeah, there was less asking and more ordering, but turns out I'm better at giving orders than following them.”

Spock didn’t respond, just stood there imposing and expressionless. Jim sighed and looked down at his lap.

“Look, we just… had a weird conversation. There were some misunderstandings. But I was actually going to get some sleep—”

Spock interrupted him. “Did you truly believe that Nyota and I were still romantically involved?

Jim felt his cheeks heat up. “Um, yeah.”

“Truly. You are being entirely honest?”

Jim threw up his hands, irritated enough to meet Spock’s severe, insistent gaze.

“Yes! I get that I’m a stupid, stupid idiot but yes, ok? Yes, I honestly thought you were together. Sorry I was in a _coma_ when you broke up, and that I was fooled because you touch each other all the fucking time, and that you still have dates, and that everyone _calls her your girlfriend_ —”

Spock interrupted him again. “Is this the reason you rejected me in the sparring room 2 months and 11 days ago?”

Jim gaped at him. “ _Rejected_ you? I didn’t reject you, I was embarrassed! And you were grossed out!”

Spock’s eyebrow flew up ludicrously high into his hairline. “What could possibly have indicated to you that I was ‘grossed out’? I was lying on top of you and attempting to rub myself against your erection.”

“You– you were?” Jim’s blush spread out over his chest. “Then why did you run away like that?”

“Your exact words, after you physically pushed me off of you, were, ‘I didn’t want that to happen,’ which I believed indicated a lack of mutual sexual interest on your part.”

Without really meaning to, Jim jumped up. “No! I just meant that I didn’t want to… you know, get hard and make it obvious how... attractive I think you are.”

“Did it not occur to you that I might _want_ to know that you were attracted to me?”

“ _No_! Because you have a girlfriend! Or I thought you did! Ugh, whatever!” Jim turned away, tugging at his hair in frustration, embarrassed and bewildered.

After a few long moments, Spock spoke again, a little uncertain. “As we are both, I suspect, experiencing confusion, I will ask plainly: are you in love with me?”

Jim crossed his arms, staring at the wall. To his absolute horror, he felt tears threatening behind his eyes. “Yes.”

“And did you resist all of my advances only because you believed I was already in a romantic relationship?”

“I didn’t really _know_ if you were making advances or not,” Jim said to the wall, “but when I thought that… maybe you were, yeah, I told myself I was wrong. That you couldn’t be in love with me because you were in love with Uhura.”

“Do you desire a romantic and sexual relationship with me?”

Jim couldn’t help it: two rogue tears slipped out. Spock couldn’t see his face, at least. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“Well, I don’t... know how you feel about that, I mean… you’ve been furious with me for months, we’ve barely talked, I don’t know what you want—”

Spock moved very quickly, too quickly for Jim to process it before Spock had flipped him around and taken Jim’s face in his hands. Spock’s tense, unreadable expression was gone, replaced by such naked emotion that it took Jim’s breath away, and he choked out a surprised little sob.

“I want _you_. I beg you to forgive me for allowing you to believe anything else. I was totally ignorant of your misconception about my relationship with Nyota. I am inexpressibly sorry for how I have treated you since our misunderstanding in the gymnasium.”

Jim stared up at him, aware that he was still crying and powerless to do anything about it. “It’s ok,” he said faintly. “I mean, you… you thought I had… rejected you… I would’ve have closed myself off too, if I—”

It hit him suddenly how _wrong_ they had both been, that he had accidentally hurt Spock, given him hope and then crushed it. The realization wrapped around him in tight, strangling bands of anxiety. His eyes went wide, and as his breathing picked up Spock’s forehead creased in concern.

“Oh god, Spock. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I made you think I rejected you, oh my god I _never_ want to hurt you, I’m so sorry, oh god—”

Spock shook his head. “No, no, do not apologize. It was a misunderstanding only. You believed you needed to keep your attraction private so as not to impose upon myself and Nyota. You did nothing wrong, Jim.” His eyes scanned Jim’s face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones. “Take a deep breath, everything is alright.”

“Nothing’s alright!” Jim shouted, pulling out of his grasp. “ _Nothing_! I’ve wanted you so bad for five fucking years and I fucked it all up, it’s all ruined!”

Spock held up his hands and moved toward him slowly as if Jim were a frightened animal. “Nothing is ruined, Jim. Why do you say that?"

Jim backed away from Spock’s advance but only succeeded in hitting the wall. “You hate me now! I hurt you; you were going to _go back to New Vulcan_ because of me!”

Spock reached slowly, very slowly, for Jim’s hands, obviously still trying not to spook him. Jim didn’t to stop him.

“I _was_ hurt but, as I said, it was not your fault. We had a very unfortunate misunderstanding but Jim, it has been _corrected_. I do _not_ hate you.” His voice was firm and reassuring, his eyes held Jim’s like magnets. “I love you. I have loved you for longer than you know.”

Jim sobbed once. His whole body was shaking and he didn’t know how much longer he could stay standing. Spock’s hands slipped to his upper arms.

“Will you accept me as your monogamous romantic and sexual partner?”

Jim laughed deliriously, tipping forward as his muscles quivered. What a ridiculous fucking question.

“Do you really still want that?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Spock’s grip on his biceps tightened. “Do you?”

“Yeah,” Jim whispered. “That’s all I want.”

With a relieved sigh, Spock pulled Jim to him, and Jim sagged, weak and spent, against Spock’s solid Vulcan body. He felt tangled and strange and disoriented. He had dreamed of this—this very moment—for a long time and in his fantasies it had never gone like this. He didn’t feel relieved, he didn’t feel happy. He didn’t know what he felt.

“It has been a difficult night, Jim. You will feel better tomorrow.”

“Are you reading my mind?” Jim mumbled into Spock’s shoulder.

“Forgive me,” Spock said sheepishly. “My shields are weakened.”

“That’s ok.”

They were silent for a while, but Jim got limper and limper the longer they stood there, and eventually he asked, “Can we go to bed? I just want to go to bed.”

Spock steadied him on his feet and slowly let go of him.

“Of course.” He looked at Jim hesitantly. “Would you like me to return to my quarters?”

Jim shook his head in agitation. That was the last thing he wanted. “Can you stay?”

Spock actually smiled, full and sweet. He took Jim’s hand and Jim let himself be half-led, half-dragged into bed.

\---

Jim woke up the next morning with Spock curled warm and solid against his back. And hard.

Hard as in erect. Against Jim’s ass.

Jim swallowed as his own cock, half-hard as it always was in the morning, gleefully filled completely.

Last night Jim had passed out almost instantly. He had been exhausted and overwhelmed from the evening’s barrage of information, and having Spock tucked against him, stroking his hair, murmuring that Jim should let himself rest, had been a very effective sleep aid.

But now Jim was awake, and his dick was awake, and Spock’s dick was awake. A glance over his shoulder confirmed that Spock himself was the only one still asleep.

Jim licked his lips nervously. How was he supposed to handle this when he didn’t even know where they stood. Were they together? And if they were, together in what _way_?

Well, Spock _had_ asked him to be his “monogamous romantic and sexual partner,” Jim reminded himself, and that wasn’t exactly ambiguous.

Spock shifted slightly against Jim, grinding himself unconsciously into the pleat of Jim’s ass. Jim’s eyelids fluttered and his cock throbbed; none of this even felt real yet, but getting horny came naturally to him no matter what the more intelligent parts of his brain were doing.

“Spock,” he said. When he got no response he said it again a little louder, over his shoulder. “Spock.”

Spock shifted against him again, this time inhaling deeply as he came awake.

“Oh,” he said softly and Jim couldn’t help but laugh, just a little.

“Yeah. Good morning.”

Spock started to move away but Jim reached back and grabbed his hip. “Don’t. I like it. Unless,” he let go, suddenly self-conscious, “I mean, unless you’re not comfortable with—”

Spock shuffled back close to him and rutted once against Jim’s ass, hard, insinuating the whole length of his cock between Jim’s cheeks.

“Oh, fuck,” Jim swore.

Spock touched the back of Jim’s neck just slightly with his lips. “I like it as well.”

Jim’s breathing picked up. “W– we still have a lot to– to talk about…”

“Yes. Would you prefer to do so now?”

Jim’s hips had started writhing of their own accord. “Not really.”

Spock nipped at the back of his neck. “I would prefer to engage you in sexual congress; more specifically I wish to engage in anal intercourse after a period of mutual oral and digital stimulation. Is that acceptable to you?”

“Jesus, that should not sound so sexy,” Jim moaned, his cock throbbing.

“I require your verbal consent,” Spock said against his ear.

“Yes, yes, I want all of that, please, yes.”

“Good,” Spock’s voice was low and dangerous as he tugged Jim onto his back and slithered on top of him. Jim looked up into Spock’s dark, hungry eyes, his flushed face and tousled hair. In this position, he was suddenly reminded unpleasantly of the disaster in the gym.

Spock stilled and his hand came up to touch Jim’s cheek. “Your expression indicates distress. Would you like to stop?”

Jim shook his head. “No, no, not at all. I just… I’m sorry I didn’t get it. When you were trying to do this before.”

Spock’s eyes softened. “Do not apologize. We will talk more soon, but let us simply enjoy each other for now.”

Jim couldn’t help but smirk bemusedly. “Are you, like, desperate for this?”

Spock went bright green, and Jim’s stomach swooped at how beautiful he was, how inconceivable it was that he was here, with Jim.

“It has been… quite some time since I engaged in partnered sexual activity. Furthermore I have desired you for so long that, with you underneath me, I find myself impatient.”

Jim’s cock pulsed again at that. It was trapped now under the press of Spock’s long, solid body, and Spock gasped when it rubbed against his own.

“I want you so much,” Jim whispered, as if it wasn’t obvious, but being able to say such things aloud made him feel punch-drunk. Their faces were impossibly close.

“And I you,” Spock growled.

They hadn’t kissed yet, Jim realized, at least not in the human way. Tentatively, he shifted his head to bring their mouths together, slow enough for Spock to move away if he didn’t want it. But Spock surged forward and shoved his tongue right into Jim’s mouth, kissing him like he had been starved for it all his life. Jim whimpered, trying to keep up.

He wasn’t really used to feeling outpaced in a sexual encounter, but with Spock everything was new and vastly more important than any other sex he’d ever had, and he felt nervous and uncertain. Not to mention the fact that Spock was all over him like a writhing, insatiable teenager, abrupt and hasty.

Jim really hadn’t had time to process this, barely believed this was happening. Mere hours ago he’d been a sobbing, emotional wreck in Spock's arms. But somehow Spock still wanted him— _really_ wanted him, if the wet spot Jim could feel soaking through Spock’s sleep pants was any indication.

He broke away from Spock’s mouth gasping. Spock scrambled backward so that he could take his shirt off, and Jim was frozen for a moment by the sight of Spock’s taut chest, soft with black hair, nipples green and hard.

Spock grabbed his wrists and yanked him up, practically tearing off his shirt. Jim had already fallen back onto the bed and Spock was taking his pants off, leaving only his briefs, before he remembered to be embarrassed of his body. He had lost weight on Bones’s nutrition plan but he still had a belly, round and squishy and gross. His nipples had a layer of fat around them and poked out a little. His thighs were thick and dimpled.

He started to curl in on himself, looking up at Spock for the inevitable signs of disgust in his face, but instead Spock was staring down at him as if he had never seen anything he wanted so much. He reached out to touch him.

“You are so soft,” he breathed, running his fingers over Jim’s belly. Jim tried to squirm away, but Spock looked up at him, holding him captive in his direct, piercing gaze. “You are self-conscious of the changes to your body.”

“I, well– yeah. I’ve always been fit, you know?”

Spock shook his head, hand skimming Jim’s ribs reverently and coming again to rest on his stomach.

“You are beautiful. Just like this, you are beautiful.”

Jim swallowed. He certainly didn’t _feel_ beautiful, but he tried to ride out the discomfort. Spock seemed so thrilled by him, so hungry for him, and Jim wanted to give him whatever he wanted.

Spock leaned forward and sucked one of Jim’s plump nipples into his mouth and Jim bucked up with a gasp. His hand went automatically to the back of Spock’s head.

“Jesus, you just get right to it, huh?”

Spock popped off and looked uncertainly up at him. “My apologies. How better can I please you?”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” Jim said, softening his hand on Spock’s head, running his fingers over his scalp. Spock’s eyelids fluttered. “It’s really hot that you’re so forward. I’m just… nervous, I guess.”

Spock gave him a shy little smile. “I too admit to nervousness. Perhaps we should agree to endure it together.”

Jim took a deep breath and smiled back. “Sounds good, Mr. Spock.”

Spock raised an eyebrow at that, which made Jim laugh, and then went back to sucking hard on his nipple. Jim groaned, head falling back, legs unconsciously falling farther apart. Spock actually chuckled, a dark rumbling sound.

“Would you like attention here?” he teased, running one finger down to trace the hard line of Jim’s cock.

“Yeah,” Jim whispered.

Spock slipped down to mouth at Jim’s dick through his briefs. Jim stared—he had never seen anything so outrageously hot in his entire life. Well, he hadn’t up until Spock tugged his briefs down and licked his lips hungrily as Jim’s cock popped free, then looked up and held eye contact with Jim as he sucked his entire length into his mouth.

“Oh my _fucking god_ ,” Jim swore, back arching off the bed, muscles sharp and tense.

Spock made a desperate little noise around Jim’s cock. Jim reached down with both hands and stroked his hair, his cheeks.

“God, you’re amazing,” he groaned, and after only a couple of minutes tightened his fingers in Spock’s hair, tugging him off. Spock looked up at him questioningly, mouth swollen and slick, green tongue visible between his parted lips.

“I don’t want to come yet,” Jim explained, shimmying up. “Also, I want those pants off of you now.”

Spock stood to strip off his pants and briefs, and Jim nearly came anyway when he caught sight of his alien cock, big and green.

Jim looked up at him, suddenly unsure. “I– I’ve never been with a Vulcan before.”

Spock froze and his hands, which had been reaching for Jim, clenched and dropped to his sides.

“No, no, no!” Jim got up on his knees, holding his own hands up reassuringly. “No, I didn’t mean I was weirded out by your cock or anything! I just... I don’t know how to get you off, I don’t want to hurt you, or– or ruin this.”

He was on the verge of tears _again_. _Idiot_ , how could he have fucked this up so quickly? But Spock softened, looking at him with... pity? Sympathy? Jim wasn’t quite sure.

“You could not ruin this, Jim. Like you, I have insecurities about my body. I was simply concerned that I was not attractive to you.”

Jim shook his head. “Are you kidding? You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said honestly. “I just want to make you feel good.”

Spock’s face was so soft, so full of adoration that it took Jim’s breath away. He sat down on the bed elegantly, next to Jim.

“May I show you?” he reached out for Jim’s hand.

Jim swallowed hard and put his hand in Spock’s. “God, yes.”

Spock guided his hand down to his cock, wrapping it around in a light grip. He was slippery and smelled amazing, a heady sort of musk that was definitely alien to Jim, although he didn’t know if it was typically Vulcan or just uniquely Spock. Jim took a deep breath and tried to focus; he had started shaking from both nerves and arousal.

“Do you self-lubricate?”

“Yes.”

Jim closed his eyes. “Holy fuck. Holy fucking fuck, that’s amazing.”

Spock started guiding his hand up and down. “Keep your eyes open, Jim.”

Jim obeyed, watching their joined hands as Spock directed him down to the base of his cock. It was protruding from a few sets of velvety folds, not unlike a vulva.

“These are labia. The lubrication emanates from membranes here. I also have lubricating membranes in my anus.” Jim whimpered. “The labia are very sensitive, and you may touch them, gently at first.”

He let go of Jim’s hand and let him skim his fingers through the labia. Spock was a mess, warm and wet. Jim was gasping for breath by now.

“Can I taste you?” He asked desperately. He looked up to find Spock watching him, a dark satisfaction in his gaze.

“Of course.”

Jim threw himself on his stomach to get the best access, and immediately got his tongue in a particularly wet fold, licking a gentle stripe. The noise Spock made was obscene and Jim tried to commit that noise to memory, to hoard it forever.

Spock tasted incredible, and Jim lapped all over and then all the way up his cock, eagerly stuffing so much down his throat that he choked.

“Careful,” Spock chided, gently tugging him off by the hair. “Do not hurt yourself.”

Jim panted up at him. “Sorry, it’s just so hot. You’re s– so hot.”

Spock smiled softly. “Thank you. You are also excessively attractive.”

Jim disagreed but he was too turned on by now to think much of it. He rubbed his cheek against Spock’s drooling cock. “God, Spock, I dunno how long I can last. This is… this is just so much.”

Spock stroked his hair. “Are you amenable to penetrating me?”

Jim looked up at him shyly. “Y– yeah. I mean, I usually bottom so I’m not sure I’d… do a good job, but—”

Spock interrupted him by urging him up and then silencing him with a kiss. He moaned at the taste of himself on Jim’s mouth and then broke away.

“Similarly, I typically take the penetrative role, but as I am already wet and thus require less preparation, it seems the most logical course of action. Also I would deeply enjoy having you inside me.”

Jim was reeling at how easily Spock could swing between a logical cost-benefit analysis and incredible dirty talk. “Ok,” he whispered.

Spock lay back, pulling Jim with him. He felt so _good_ under Jim’s body, so solid and safe. As they kissed Jim slid one hand down to Spock’s cock, over the labia, and down—

“Do you have balls?” he couldn’t help but gasp out between kisses and Spock chuckled again.

“If you are referring to testicles, yes. Or rather, a Vulcan equivalent. They are located under the skin of my lower back and are called _chenesi_.

“Cool,” was the only response Jim had patience for before he smashed their mouths together again.

He found Spock’s hole, soaking wet and pulsing. “Anything I should know about this?” he asked. Spock shook his head.

“It functions in a manner very similar to a human rectum. Please penetrate it with your fingers before your penis, although you will not need to do so for long.”

Jim slipped a finger into the molten heat, moaning. Spock’s hole was already slack and took him easily, so he added another finger. Spock gasped and his eyes fluttered shut.

“Is that ok?” Jim asked.

“Yes,” Spock hissed. “Please insert another finger.”

“Are you sure? That’s really fast.”

Spock reached up and touched Jim’s cheek. “I appreciate your concern but as I say, less intensive manual preparation is required for Vulcans in comparison with humans. The muscles loosen as lubrication increases.”

Jim swallowed and nodded, slipping another finger in slowly. Spock groaned and let his head fall back.

“Ok?” Jim double-checked.

“Yes,” Spock groped around for Jim’s free hand, squeezing it when he found it. “That is perfect. Please fuck me with those three fingers for a short period of time.”

Jim’s body and mind stuttered to a halt. Spock looked up, confused.

“D– did you just say ‘fuck’?”

Spock raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You are not the first human I have had intercourse with, Jim, I _am_ familiar with some of the colloquialisms.”

Head spinning, Jim started to shove his fingers in and out. “That’s so hot I can’t stand it,” he muttered, although Spock didn’t seem to hear him, gasping now as Jim’s fingers worked him open.

“Oh, Jim, that is so good. You are doing so well.”

The praise sang along Jim’s spine and he picked up his pace a little, finding Spock’s prostate—did Vulcans have a prostate? Well, he seemed to have something because when Jim got his fingers on the approximate right spot, Spock actually cried out.

“Jim, Jim,” he chanted, “I do not require further preparation, please penetrate me now, now, now.”

Jim didn’t need any more convincing; he tore his fingers out and shuffled over to line himself up. He managed to pause with the head of his cock against Spock’s wet hole.

“T– tell me if it hurts, ok? Or if you don’t like it?”

“It will not hurt, Jim, cease worrying. You feel so incredible, please, please.”

The fact that he had reduced Spock to babbling was almost too much to take, and Jim let himself slide slowly in. Spock gasped and pulled Jim down on top of him, nestled between his legs and inside him.

Jim started slow, just in case, but at Spock’s faintly frustrated growl he sped up. Spock was tight and wet and perfect; they fit together so easily, like they had been made to do it. With each thrust Jim let out an increasingly pathetic whine.

Beneath him, Spock writhed and whimpered. He stroked Jim’s cheek with one hand, the other grabbing his ass. “Jim, you are incredible, you feel so good, you are doing so well. That’s the way, _ashayam_ , just like that.”

“Fuck, Spock, fuck,” Jim growled, beating into Spock with abandon now. He met Spock’s eyes, and Spock’s other hand came up to cup Jim’s face too. For a while, an unmeasured amount of time, they just looked at each other, Jim pounding wave after wave of heat and need into Spock’s body.

“Fuck,” Jim keened through his teeth, finally breaking the eye contact. “Fuck, Spock, I’m so close, I— _fuck_ —don’t wanna come yet, shit—”

“I too am approaching orgasm,” Spock gasped, sweaty and wrecked. Determined to at least let Spock get there first, Jim squeezed his eyes shut and focused on holding out. But then Spock shouted, his body seizing up tight, and Jim’s eyes flew open to find Spock looking at him, the most desperate expression on his face. He held Jim’s eyes as he went over the edge, gasping out tiny little shouts and screams, spilling thick and sweet between their bellies.

Jim tumbled after him, locking up inside him with a helpless shout. Spock repeated, “Yes, yes, yes, yes,” reduced now to monosyllables.

When Jim was spent, curled over Spock and gasping, he started shaking again, exhausted and overwhelmed. Spock gently nudged him off to the side, and Jim pulled out, collapsing onto his back.

“You’re amazing,” he slurred.

“As are you,” Spock said, his voice still breathless, and slipped his arm under Jim’s back, pulling him against his side. Jim tucked his head onto Spock’s chest and they breathed together in silence for a while, coming down from the intensity of their encounter.

Eventually, hot and sticky, Jim rolled over onto his back. It was starting to hit him what they had just done, how improbable it was that he had just fucked Spock, how much they still had to say. After a few more minutes Spock seemed to sense the fact that Jim had started ruminating and reached over to take his hand.

“Are you alright, Jim?”

“Yeah. Just. Thinking about everything.”

“Are you willing to share your thoughts?”

Jim turned his head weakly to look at Spock.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted quietly. “I’ve never been in a relationship… like this. Hell, I’ve never really been in a serious relationship at all.”

“I doubt there is an individual way to correctly be in a romantic relationship, Jim. We will find our way.”

“It’s just weird. We’ve barely talked for the past few months and now we’re… what? Boyfriends?”

“I believe that term is appropriate.”

Jim sighed, looking away. Spock reached out and turned his head back with one finger, meeting his eyes. “What is troubling you?”

“I’m worried that I can’t _be_ a good boyfriend right now. I mean, I’m kind of a mess. You… you’ve noticed. We… talked about it a couple of times.”

“Yes. We were going to discuss it after the Hephae mission.”

“Yeah.”

Spock closed his eyes, let his hand fall away from Jim’s face. “I sincerely apologize that I offered to help and then withdrew any professional or personal support. It was unconscionable to distance myself from you so completely simply because I believed you had rebuffed my advances. I am so very, very sorry.”

“Thanks,” Jim murmured. “I guess I do wish you had just talked to me.”

“And so I should have. What can I do to make amends?”

Jim turned on his side, propping his head on his hand. “You don’t have to make amends, Spock. Just… going forward can we both agree to be more honest and stuff? It’s not like I’ve been much better.”

“Absolutely. A commitment to better communication overall seems wise. Although, I must say in your own defense that you believed you had to conceal your affections because I was not romantically available.”

“I know, but it’s not just that. I probably should have come to you a long time ago, even just as a friend and your captain, to talk about… you know.”

Spock turned on his side too so that they were tucked close together, and put an arm around Jim’s waist. “But I do not know, Jim. I have suspicions, of course, but I ask that you explain in your own words what has been troubling you for so long.”

Jim shrugged, embarrassed. But he had just asked for honesty and he needed to live up to his end of the bargain.

“This kind of stuff is hard for me to talk about, but, um. I mean, you know I’ve had mental health issues on and off for most of my life right?”

“Yes,” Spock said, his thumb rubbing a slow circle against Jim’s hip.

“Well, I’ve just been in a pretty low place for a while now. Bones says it’s a ‘significant episode of major depressive disorder’ or whatever. It’s why I gained weight, and why I screwed up the Hephae mission, and why I’ve been so weird. I’m not… sure that that’s an ideal state of mind for starting a relationship.”

Spock’s dark eyes watched him, unblinking. “Are you attempting to say you do not wish to enter a relationship with me at this time?”

“Oh, no!” Jim scooted closer, getting right up against him. “No, I’m just worried. About you, mostly. I don’t feel like… I can be good enough for you right now.”

Spock drooped slightly in what seemed like relief and pulled Jim even closer. Jim rested his head on Spock’s shoulder, cheek against his cool Vulcan skin.

“Jim, mental illness in no way precludes you from being ‘good enough’ for me.”

“But I mean, I’m kinda hard to be around sometimes. Or at least, I’m not a whole lot of fun.”

“I do not want to be with you because I desire a form of entertainment. I love you, all of you, and I want to be with you through moments both difficult and joyful. I want to be your partner in life as I am your partner in duty, and— are you alright?”

Jim’s grip had apparently tightened throughout the duration of Spock’s declaration and he was now clinging to him, shaking a little as he tried not to cry.

“Sorry, yeah,” he said, relaxing his arms. “It’s just… that was… nice. The stuff you said.”

Spock pulled back so that he could he could see Jim’s face. Jim willed himself not to look away, ashamed of the tears that had welled up in his eyes.

“Sorry. Sometimes I’m not great with emotions,” he said thickly.

Spock shook his head fondly, reaching out to wipe away one tear that had escaped.

“You would make a passable Vulcan, Captain.”

Jim snorted. “Yeah, right.” He sobered. “Thank you for saying all that. I… I love you. And stuff.”

Spock kissed him lightly and said, a little sarcastic, “I love you, and stuff.”

It sounded so silly coming out of Spock’s mouth that Jim couldn’t help but laugh. Spock smiled in his soft Vulcan way, eyes trained on Jim’s face like two moons caught in a new orbit.

\---

Four days later, Jim slipped out of the Starfleet Embassy after a day of meetings and wandered off on his own. There was one small, out-of-the-way park on Yorktown that was always exceptionally quiet at 2100. Jim liked to go there because it was private and peaceful, especially in the dimness of the starbase’s evening.

He rarely saw anyone else at that time, but tonight someone was sitting on one of the benches, staring into the shadows. As he got a little closer, he recognized Uhura. She looked up when she heard him approach and smiled.

“Hey there.”

“Hey.”

She patted the bench next to her. “Care to join me?”

“Yeah, ok.” Jim hadn’t planned on being social tonight, but he knew Uhura wouldn’t push him to be more sociable than he felt.

They sat in a silence for a while, just listening to the sounds of leaves and breezes, noises you couldn’t hear on a spaceship.

“Did you ever find a ladyish alien to fuck?” Jim asked eventually.

Nyota snorted. “Yep.”

“Species?”

She looked at him, eyes amused. “Vulcan.”

Jim laughed. They were quiet again until Nyota reached over and put her hand on his. “I wanted to apologize that you thought Spock and I were still together. I know it wasn’t my fault, but… I’m sorry I contributed to your unhappiness, even inadvertently.”

Jim squeezed her hand. “Thanks, but you’re right—it wasn’t your fault, not even a little bit. I guess it wasn’t anyone’s, really. I’m still pissed at myself for wasting so much time.”

She turned to look at him again. Her eyes were dark black in the twilight. “You’ve got plenty of time now.”

He nodded. “Thanks. For helping things, you know. Get resolved.”

“You’re allowed to say, ‘for helping us get together.’ You can call him your boyfriend.”

Jim huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I know. Just still feels weird.”

“Yeah. It’ll probably take some getting used to.”

“Yeah.”

They lapsed into silence again, broken eventually by the sound of Jim’s comm beeping with a message from Spock: _I request that you meet me in the transporter room of the_ Enterprise _if you are available._

Jim texted: _Be right there._

“I gotta go.”

Nyota pulled her legs up onto the bench and rested her cheek on them. “Spock?”

“Yeah. He wants to see me on the ship. Must be a work thing.” He looked her over and sighed. “Thanks, Uhura.”

She nodded. “Night, Jim.”

Jim made his way to Yorktown’s transporter facility, requesting beam-up to his ship, which was in orbit around the space station. Five minutes later, he materialized in the transporter room of the new _Enterprise_ , finding Spock at parade rest near the control panel.

“Hey, Spock.” He hopped off the transporter pad. “What’s up?”

“I require your presence, Captain. If you will follow me.”

He strode purposefully into the corridor, looking over his shoulder to make sure that Jim was behind him.

Jim shook his head, confused, and caught up to him. “What’s this about?”

Spock looked straight ahead. “There is something I want you to see.”

“That’s cryptic,” Jim said, vaguely irritated and unsettled by Spock’s evasiveness.

Spock didn’t answer him, and they continued on in silence. Jim looked around at the empty corridors, cold and brand-new, familiar but slightly wrong. Finally Spock stopped, just outside the sensor range of a set of double doors.

“The new observation deck?” Jim asked.

“Yes. I want you to see the new layout.”

“I’ve seen it, Spock, I approved all of the blueprints.”

A little smirk had crept onto Spock’s face. “But you have not yet seen it in person.” He held out his hand. “Close your eyes.”

“Close my– Spock, what are you doing?”

Spock’s only answer was to wiggle his hand a little to encourage Jim to take it.

With a skeptical sigh, Jim took Spock’s long, cool hand and closed his eyes. Spock led them through the door and several paces into the deck before stopping. He didn’t let of Jim’s hand. “Open your eyes.”

Jim did. He couldn’t help his sharp intake of break, and Spock’s hand tightened around his.

The entire ceiling and one bulkhead were made of transparent aluminum, the expanse of space above their heads endless and impossibly close. They were surrounded by stars, the observation deck illuminated only by their light. Two candy-colored nebulae were visible far, far off, glinting, and a few other ships moved to and fro in their line of sight, arriving at or leaving the starbase.

Jim had known, as he said, that the new observation deck would have a much, much better view, but Spock was right: seeing it in person was totally different.

“It’s beautiful.”

Spock shifted a little closer to him, speaking as Jim stared up and up. “Jim, I know you miss the original _Enterprise_ , and that this ship will never be exactly right. But when we boarded our first ship we were near-strangers, totally at odds with each other. We are boarding _this_ ship together.” Jim looked back down, staring at Spock’s face in the low light.

“I know I cannot make you happy simply because I wish you to be. I know that you will continue to grapple with your mental health, and that there is no easy solution. But I want _you_ to know that I intend to do everything I can to make your way easier from now on; that you have my full support and devotion, and that you are not alone in this.”

Jim took a deep breath. “And what do you get in return?”

“ _You_. All of the acceptance and loyalty and illogic that made me fall in love with you. You have improved my life in myriad ways, Jim, long before we became involved. Do not think that it is anything but a pleasure and a privilege to stand at your side.”

Jim looked and looked and looked at Spock's face, so sincere and adoring. “I love you so much, Spock.”

“And I you.”

He pulled Spock to him, slotted their bodies together, and for a long time they just stood there on their new ship, the slow, clockwork movements of the universe going on and on around them.

“Did you bring me up here just to say that?” Jim mumbled into Spock’s shoulder eventually.

“Yes. It seemed… romantic. I hoped it would appeal to your human sensibilities.”

Jim laughed and drew back to look at him, leaving his arms draped loosely around his neck.

“You're not fooling me, Mr. Spock. You're a romantic and a sap, don't try to deny it.”

Spock made only the most cursory attempt to hide his smile. “I yield to your perceptive insight, Captain.”

Jim grinned and leaned in to kiss him again.

\---

Finally, the ship was done. The crew boarded her: Scotty ran every check he could think of and then ran them all again twice. Bones complained about the changes to the medbay. Uhura had to go down and drag Spock away from his fancy new labs to attend a senior officer’s meeting, and Spock had to drag her away from her new communications panel after she spent five hours so absorbed in it that she forgot to eat or drink.

When all the chaos of loading and preparing was over, Jim stepped onto the bridge of his new ship, nervous, missing the original _Enterprise_. But Spock was waiting by the captain’s chair with one of his little smiles, and Jim felt himself relax.

“Ready to head out again, Mr. Spock?”

“Affirmative, Captain.”

Jim sat and looked up at his first officer, this incredible person who had become so essential to his existence. “We could have you back on New Vulcan in four days, if you’ve changed your mind about staying on with us.”

He was mostly teasing, but he knew Spock heard the shiver of doubt that still shadowed many of their interactions. His eyes softened.

“Unnecessary, Captain. My place is at your side.”

Jim smiled. He took a deep breath and turned to face the viewscreen, hearing Spock walk to his station.

“Full-speed ahead, Mr. Sulu. Let’s punch it.”


End file.
